


How to seduce a friend and be left alone

by Tofiam



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Blood, M/M, Sarcasm, incredible guilt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-10-13
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-21 02:03:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2450576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tofiam/pseuds/Tofiam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A fine art of seduction is like a pair of shoes - if they're not right, you know it after the first step...<br/>Zevran's really want to catch that chantry bird... But when you lure the chantry boy in a golden cage, you may end up locked within.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Disbelief

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, please be blind to my mistakes, English is not my first language (hardly an excuse, I know). And enjoy. :)

It doesn't make sense. He understood to that stare but it was not fitting for this situation. Perhaps if he didn't think about it so much, it would have revealed meaning on its own.

Why was Zevran looking at him like it's all his fault?

Alistair rose up and came aroud a campfire drawed by a pair of honey coloured eyes like a moth.

"What are you doing?" he asked. Zevran bowed his head and wiped his forehead with his forearm. He had blood on fingers.

Taras Tabris, leader of their group, was sitting on a ground in front of the Antivan elf, sucking a crumpled  piece of cloth, munching a shirt on his knees. Drops of sweat were drawing rivers and ponds on his soiled skin.

Zevran didn't answered. He bent over touching Taras back with both hands. When he pull up a needle with a silk thread to the air, Alistair understood.

"Maker's breath," he said passionately. "This... This can be done in a diffrent way, you know."

Zevran's stare, that particular stare, was back smoothing all features in his beautiful slender face, facing him firmly, partly disdainful, partly resigned.

"This can be, but we're out of potions, out of ointments, and Taras is the only one able to prepare them. And he has to be in a better shape to prepare them, at least." he explained quite unnecessarily. Then he sneered. "But no need to worry – I rinsed this temporary dibble in poppy milk."

Alistair's jaw dropped low down. Taras looked like an elven boy which has only a couple of years between him and voice changing. He was not good at guessing age within elves and he had no opportunity to ask Taras about his, however he couldn't be much older than himself. Seeing him doped was shocking. Really, Zevran had no moral inhibitions at all. Taras smiled absently, slanted eyes lowering. He wouldn't noticed if the assassin pulled out a dagger and stabbed him.

Some of theese thoughts was likely to be mirrored on Alistair's face because Zevran sighed and crossed arms over his chest.

"If I'd want to intoxicate and kill him, I wouldn't bother myself with stitching him up first," he said. "You see? All yours now," he added and stepped away. Alistair knelt down before Taras and helped him put on his shirt. Then reached out, let the elf spit out the dibble like an obedient child and threw it to the fire, disgusted. Zev didn't comment. He wore his firm and borred face again, telling Alistair: _It's all your fault._

Alistair could be imagining it. That he wanted a guilt to be there because he feels guilty. One way or another, it was disturbing. Noone traveling with him so briefly should be able to see depths of his heart.

He accompanied Taras into his tent and checked if he's still bleeding. If nothing else, Zevran made a really good job.

"Your hair... sunrise in Antiva," Taras giggled. "Zev told me," he giggled more. Alistair rolled up his eyes and covered him with a fur. Elf tucked himself dreamily in and felt asleep after a few minutes.

Alistair sit down by the flap of Taras tent and didn't leave that spot untill morning. Although all the time he couldn't shake off impression of two honey eyes watching him, shining in the dark.


	2. Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A freedom is always coming with a price.

Taras was feeling wonderfuly good. If he wouldn't count his cousin Soris, he's felt surrounded by friendship and with meaning of life for the first time. He was almost able to forget about Denerim's Alianage, about the Blight, about the Ostagar. It was not like hopeless fight for a mere life, but as living through an amazing adventure.

"And what about your story?" Zevran asked.

"Except what Loghain told ya?"

"Actually, he didn't tell anything. Crows couldn't last for so long if there would be abything else than biding about a charge."

"'Twas an explanation of lack of your preparation," Morrigan put in their conversation.

"Oh, 'twas not," Zevran corrected. "Crows found out a lots of things, that's the part of each job. Such as Taras is a Grey Warden and survived the Ostagar. That he's an elf from a city alianage. And I know about his allergy to strawberries, too," he shrugged. "All useful informations."

Taras rubbed his ears nervously. A bad habbit which suggested his avoiding. Memmories of the Alianage weren't pleasant ones.

"My story isn't as interesting as Alistair's," he claimed and turn, now walking backwards. "Isn't it, my princ?" he grinned.

"It's supposed to be secret," Alistair fenced himself.

"I'm interested in every story about The Mighty Grey Wardens," Zevran purred. He looked at Alistair by a corner of eye, but he just shook and dodged his stare. Taras noticed that. He didn't want to Zevran feeling out of their party, so he started.

"I was living in the Alianage of Denerim. There's an awful stench and rotten potatoes," he added with undertone full of emotions. "Mother taught me... let's say most of my very specific skills. Father disagreed with her. He wished me to work in Denerim palace. I tried – I've been employed as a kitchen staff. I hate doing dishes. You have to remember to wash a plate on both sides and that there's a special brush for chalices. Well, I was more concerned with a golden edge on them." He rubbed his left ear again. "Father was forcing me to wed but I'm not a family type. And I have really little to offer. I mean, in that way to maintain at least a spark of decency. Theese memmories are not good. I'm not suitable for a yoke of matrimony, for palace either. On the other hand, I learned here to move very quietly."

"Hmm, I can imagine," Zevran spoke up, lowered his eyelids and turn to him, "that you do lots of things quietly."

"You can bet," Taras told him teasingly. "When I put worms into your trousers, even Marker won't hear me."

"It's not a metaphor, isn't it?" Zevran laughed. "By the way, I knew a guy -"

"This story I do not want to hear!" Taras cut him off quickly. In another minute they were laughing together. Alistair sighed heavily behind them.

Taras hawked and kept walking lightly to the Docks on Lake Calenhad. The Alianage was a vague nightmare and he was waking up into the new dawning with Grea Wardens, a family which suited him just nicely. He meant something even for people who meant something for him. As an elf he enjoyed this fresh emotion, let it overwhelmed him.

He has felt wanted and needy for the first time.

Taras looked over his shoulder at Alistair who had run his fingers nervously through his copper hair.Next to him Morrigan was carefuly watching immediate vincity obviously more apprehensive than she was letting go. And Zevran, although he was pacing with ease, he had fingers casualy wraped around a one of his wispy dagger.

Taras sneered. Perhaps others felt the same.

A freedom was coming with a price, and that was a fear.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are for free. Use them till they run out! :D


End file.
